


Pivot

by Book_Junkie007



Series: Panem Roller Derby [1]
Category: Hunger Games (2012)
Genre: F/M, Roller Derby AU, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:51:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_Junkie007/pseuds/Book_Junkie007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pure derby smut, featuring Katniss and Peeta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pivot

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so here it is, the fic some of you were waiting for.
> 
> This fic is based off of this [pic](http://alonglineofbread.tumblr.com/post/50237491629) of a roller derby Katniss and Peeta. It's kind of turned into a thing, where I'm writing a whole story for it. Thanks to ALongLineOfBread on Tumblr for drawing the pic which started this whole thing, giving me permission to use her drawings as the basis for fic, and betaing this fic. <3
> 
> I'm [Book_Junkie007](http://book-junkie007.tumblr.com) on Tumblr if you want to come play with me.

I moan softly as he pushes me against the wall in the women’s washroom. I know someone can walk in at any moment, but that’s only heightening the excitement I’m feeling pool between my legs.

“You know you shouldn’t have pushed that girl after you were off the rink,” he says as he presses kisses down the side of my jaw.

“I know, but you should have heard the things she was saying about you; the things she would do to you if she ever got you alone,” I gasp.

He chuckles against my skin. “So you were just being protective of me. How sweet.”

“Don’t let it get to your ego, Mellark,” I say back.

“I won’t, Katniss,” he agrees.

We keep kissing lazily, slowly, our hands exploring each other. I unbutton his ref’s shirt to be able to run my hands across his chest, while he pushes my deep green tank top up so he can rub his hands against my lower back. Eventually I manage to flip us so he’s against the wall and I’m leaning against him.

“We should really be getting back,” he pants softly.

“Not just yet,” I say. “I want to do one more thing before we go.” I start to unbutton and unzip his fly and then slip my hand into his boxers.

He bucks his hips into my hand as his hand works its way into my tiny shorts. I’m not wearing panties; I never do during bouts.

He cups my ass as I cup his front, both of us just exploring each other as we still kiss. Eventually I get bold and wrap my hand around him. He responds by pushing my shorts all the way down my hips, helping me to step out of them, before returning his hand to my ass.

His hand eventually works its way into my folds. In response, I start gliding my hand slowly up and down his shaft.

There isn’t a lot of urgency as we work each other over. There probably should be, as I should go back to my girls and Peeta should go back to ref the next bout, but neither of us care. All we care about is taking care of each other.

All too soon, it feels like, I’m panting heavily against Peeta’s chest, stars exploding behind my eyes as my legs can barely keep myself upright. I manage to pump him a few more times hard enough so he comes with me, his body weight sagging against the wall in the afterglow.

“Well,” he says with a smirk after he recovers. “I think we should be getting back. They’ll be missing us.”

He gently grabs my upper arms and maneuvers us so I’m leaning against the wall. I watch as he walks towards the sinks, his pants still undone and a mess going all the way up his abs. He takes a wad of paper towel, wets it under the tap, and comes over to me, kneeling down so he can wipe between my thighs. I squirm a little as the roughness of the paper towel hits my sensitive flesh. After I’m as clean as I’m going to get, he helps me step back into my shorts, his hands gliding up my legs and caressing my hips as he pulls them up for me.

He then takes a piece of paper towel and cleans up the mess on his front before buttoning his ref’s shirt up and zipping up his jeans.

“So,” he asks, “same time next week?”

I can only nod.


End file.
